


Tom and Evie

by MerhppDerhpp



Series: Tom and Evie's Special Misadventures [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Crack, Dark Comedy, Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerhppDerhpp/pseuds/MerhppDerhpp
Summary: Tom Riddle has always believed he was special, but having a girl only he can see constantly criticising him wasn't what he had in mind.
Relationships: Tom Riddle & Original Female Character(s), Tom Riddle | Voldemort & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Tom and Evie's Special Misadventures [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959916
Comments: 28
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Revised - 7/10/2020.

* * *

"Tom," she calls, watching him with perpetually wide eyes as he reads some kind of Ancient Runes book while his future Death Eaters interact around him. It's all very boyish and kind of lame as they talk about who they'd like to 'shag' and how they'd go about achieving such a feat. It's a weird form of stuffy, olden aristocrats being boys, she supposes.

_"No,"_ he denies, swift and immediate because she's always calling his name to tell him that he might actually be an idiot. Nervous habit; one that he doesn't appreciate because he's very smart and suggesting otherwise is a bad idea. Obviously.

After an absent sniff, she continues with, "Tom, you're not actually going to give them such a visible mark on their arm, are you?" The very thought makes her cringe. "That's so unsubtle, what the fuck? At least, like, put it somewhere where it's less likely to be accidentally seen. Like a tramp stamp or even on their foot. Can you imagine your little minions trying to verify each other and having to deal with the tense, awkward moment of turning around and lifting their shirts? Or robes, which would make everything more absurd."

_"Please, Evie, stop talking,"_ Tom sighs, pausing in his whole nerd reading to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. _"I'll put it somewhere inconspicuous if that will silence you for five minutes."_

Evie snorts, taking a seat on the couch he's residing on. She faces him, her legs crossed as she leans half against the backrest and half against him. "Can you get rid of the skull, at least? Design isn't really your thing." When he looks over at her with narrowed eyes, she blinks back at him, likely looking half-crazed and wildly out of place. Luckily, no one but him can see her. "No, really. You're not even Mexican."

Tom bestows upon her a slow, impatient blink to indicate his contempt of her existence. _"You'll have to explain,"_ he drawls, in such a way that has her thinking he'd roll his eyes if he considered himself an inferior plebeian with no manners. Unfortunately, he doesn't because he's delusional.

"Skulls and snakes symbolise, like, the duality of life and death and how people identify with both. It's spiritual and shit, which respects death more than it condemns it. 'Cause, you know, I'm assuming you're condemning death, not accepting it. That's basically what it means in Mexican culture, but I could be wrong since I'm pretty sure this is a parallel universe or something." Scratching the back of her head, she squints at him as he visually seems to absorb her words. "Just stick with snakes. By themselves, they basically mean immortality, rebirth and all the fun jazz that you have in mind. Also, it'd fit your whole snake theme. You fucking weirdo."

He ignores her for, like, a week, but that doesn't change the fact that his minions now have iridescent snakes that can only be seen by other minions winding around their biceps. A subtle call to the ouroboros shit because she actually has an eye for design.

. . .

* * *

. . .

"Tom."

His eyes close as an exasperated sigh forcefully escapes him. "Evie, please," he murmurs out loud this time, his voice dangerously soft. It'd be a warning for most others, but he can get fucked since she can't be touched. Being a weird ghost out of time has its benefits, even if she has to haunt some sociopathic moron that aims to become immortal for the rest of her existence.

"I don't think splitting your soul is the greatest of ideas," she tells him again. He might have selective hearing or something. His brows twitches. "No, really. You're, what, fifteen? Sixteen? And you plan on permanently fucking up your soul in effort to achieve immortality sooner rather than later?" His face remains stony and unyielding. What a fucking idiot. "Your desperation baffles me."

His face shifts as his eyes darken. "Your existence elicits the same response within me," he retorts, all eloquent despite the lack of class this whole plan of his has.

Evie frowns at him with a good mix of concern and worry over his sanity. "There's a whole world of magic outside of Hogwarts, Tom," she says, and she thinks she might have succeeded in not using a tone that implies that should be obvious. But his expression is murderous, so probably not. "Do you _really_ think all the world's secrets are stored in the library of one magical school in the world, man?"

Cue three minutes of malicious silence as he glares at her pretty much unblinkingly while she stares back with crazed eyes. But then, finally, he sighs, the tension in his form draining as he runs a hand through his hair and asks, "Then what would you have me do?"

She raises her brows at him. This dude is straight trash at looking ahead, she swears. "Seriously? You're going to graduate at some point, aren't you? You can leave the orphanage and, like, travel the world for less soul-destroying methods at immortality, right? Your minions could pay for the expenses, too. You'd even be getting stronger because of your expansion of knowledge, regardless of your mortality." Looking at the egregiously high ceiling, Evie adds, "Dark magic requires complete control over yourself ̶I think, maybe ̶but if you split yourself in half, there's only half of you in control. Presumably, but whatever. My point is, don't you think that'd make it easier for that type of magic to corrupt you?"

"I wouldn't lose control," he insists, fists clenched. That sounds like denial to her.

"You know what," Evie starts, looking to the side as an idea comes to her. "Maybe you should try it out. My soul is tied to yours, _somehow,_ so something's bound to happen if you sever your soul like a fuckwit." Limbo's probably a thing in this world, though, and he'd no doubt be condemning himself to it if he goes through with his plans. Would that also apply to her? Would she be stuck with halves of him for all eternity? Fuck, she should've studied more before she died. There would've been something to be said about whatever's happened to her.

Well, she supposes it doesn't matter. Tom doesn't respond to her, but he does put away his research about horcruxes and leaves it at that.

For now, at least. She just knows he'll try it again because he's actually stupid.

. . .

* * *

. . .

"Hey, Tom, maybe you should stop petrifying people with your giant snake. Someone's going to die and then your magic school is going to get shut down or something."

Well, that seems like the logical conclusion, anyway. But wizards are fucking wack, she's learned, so she can't really be sure about their countermeasures for the deaths of their students. Petrification appears to be more of a mild worry than a genuine concern because they're used to fuckery, it would seem.

It sort of makes the whole ghost thing more of a pro than a con. Even if Tom is a short-sighted dipshit, he's been doing well enough to survive in this cracked world. Although, she's not really sure why he's going around with a gigantic sewer snake that can literally kill people with its gaze if he's not careful. It's probably some kind of dick-measuring contest against the world because he's an insecure halfwit.

Tom ignores her in favour of speaking his weirdo hiss language at a sink. Evie wonders if he realises how lame he looks.

The sink begins to shift, the old porcelain grinding and loud. But, somehow, she manages to hear a small sniffle from one of the bathroom stalls behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she finds one of the stalls fully closed, and it's then that she realises someone is in the fucking bathroom with her power-obsessed anchor.

"Oh, shit, Tom," she gasps, turning back to Tom. He's still ignoring her and doing the hissy snek bullshit. "You should stop, man. Someone's in the ̶"

Too late, the snake's massive-ass head pops up from the hole where the sinks used to be. It's still hard to believe that some mystical wizard placed a majestic reptile thing underneath a literal fucking bathroom.

Evie throws her hands up. "Well, I tried." Maybe not hard enough, but she tried, damn it. It still counts.

"Would you kindly stop acting as though I have no idea what I'm doing?" Tom finally responds after exchanging non-words with the snake. Evie might start calling them Belinda, but she doesn't want to assume their gender like that. Or name assume, holy shit! What if it already has a name? She should ask Tom later.

Right now, though, she has to tell him that he really doesn't have any idea as to what he's doing. Unfortunately, a new, stuffy voice shrieks, " _Excuse me!_ " before she can say anything.

The door of the closed bathroom stall squeaks open as shoes tap against the floor. Of course, when a new sound is introduced to their surroundings, most things turn towards it out of curiosity. It's the same for Evie, Tom and the giant snake who may or may not be a Belinda.

"Would you go away ̶"

It's a girl with glasses and pigtails, her eyes rimmed with red and looking somewhere much higher than either Tom or Evie.

And then, in less than a second, it's a dead girl with glasses and pigtails, her red-rimmed eyes blank and unseeing.

There's a moment of silence as she crumples to the ground. It's kind of pathetic, really.

Evie turns to Tom, whose form is rigid as he glares unwaveringly at the newly made corpse. " _Do not,_ " he warns her, his voice cold and with barely contained restraint. He must've seen her opening her mouth from his peripheral. "Don't you _dare,_ Evie."

To her credit, Evie tries for, like, a second. "I wasn't going to say anything," she replies, modulating her tone so it sounds like she's being falsely accused. His gaze snaps to her, revealing to her that he's not convinced. "You know, except that I told you so." Placing her hands on her hips and casually turning to Belinda, she smiles and acts as though she hasn't said anything.

Tom rapidly destroys all the stalls behind her instead of, you know, _her._ After that, he proceeds to pace around the bathroom even as water is violently spraying everywhere because of all the broken pipes. He's so absorbed in his insane muttering that he's not even bothering to deal with all the liquid that's getting on his person.

Belinda just looks as confused as a huge snake sticking out of a sewer pipe can look, which is, surprisingly, a lot. Poor thing.

"Hey, maybe Belinda should just, like, eat her."

And, after some aggressive back and forth over who the hell Belinda is and how that's not an appropriate name for a basilisk, Tom feeds the dead, bespectacled girl to Belinda.

. . .

* * *

. . .

"Wow, Tom, Dumbledude has it out for you," Evie remarks as she watches said Dumbledude stare intently at the back of Tom's retreating head. "Well, I mean, you _are_ the culprit, but it's kind of weird that he's just zoned in on you, you know?"

Even though there's no evidence implicating Tom's involvement in Myrtle Warren's disappearance from the ruined girl's bathroom, Dumbledude's got the eyes of a man who knows the truth and condemns it. She would know, after all, since lots of people would often look at her like that. Back when they could actually see her, anyway.

_"It's always been like this,"_ Tom replies, scathing and bitter. He continues down the corridor, apparently with a destination in mind. Then again, he could be lost as shit and still make it seem like it was on purpose. _"Ever since we first met, he's never liked me. And because of what? A few stolen trophies against the muggle children who failed to win against me?"_

Well, if she met a kid like baby Tom, she'd probably want to punt it towards a church for an exorcism or five. But Evie's never been much of a kid lover, so.

But one would think that Dumbledude, being a teacher for school children, would be able to figure out that orphaned kids are often troubled and need more guidance than most. Especially if they're from an orphanage located in London in the 1930s because some shit goes on in those.

Apparently, though, the proper way to discipline a troubled kid is to set his shit on fire and tell him he's the one who should apologise without context to the situation. That'll do it. Ace guidance, right there. But, you know, Tom does have a way of antagonising people, so it's not entirely their fault.

"Maybe you, like, emit evil murder vibes and Dumbledude has evil murder senses," she suggests, basically skipping beside Tom because his long-ass strides are hard to keep up with and she can't float like the ghosts she sees about. It makes sense, Evie supposes, since she's not silvery and transparent like them and only Tom can see her. "I'd say it's a good thing that you didn't rip your soul in half, if that _was_ the case. I'm sure he'd be able to feel the difference or something."

Tom heaves a sigh, slowing his strides since he has to direct some energy towards processing her bullshit.

Running a hand through his hair, he wearily asks, _"Are you really going to keep referring to him as 'Dumbledude?'"_ with a mild curl to his lip.

Evie unexpectedly laughs. It sounds weird to hear this purposefully sophisticated cretin say 'dude.' "I think it's got a cool ring to it," she says with a grin that's probably a touch maniacal, skipping ahead of him before spinning around to face him. "He'd probably like it if I were around to say it to his face." Well, maybe. If Tom ditched her and left her to her own devices, otherwise Dumbledude would be suspicious of her, too. Otherwise, though, he seems kind of chill.

Tom stops, prompting her to do the same and blink at him in confusion. He's giving her that intense stare again, as if he hasn't failed to stare into her soul and figure out its contents many times before. Sometimes, she turns it into a staring competition because she doesn't need to blink and she'll exploit the shit out of that.

But this time, she lets him think, which she doesn't often let him do. His thought process is mad fucked and then he gets obsessive, so it's kind of a necessity. He gets terrible tunnel vision.

"Evie," he calls her name out loud. She blinks before making a face at him. His gaze becomes calculative as he basically, like, stalks towards her. She looks to the side, wondering if anyone's around to see what a fucking crackhead he's being. No one. Convenient.

"Tom?" she returns, bemused and slightly concerned as she slides her hands into the pockets of her pants. Her attire is far too fucking modern for this quasi-medieval, English wizard era. It'd be better if she was attached to someone from a modern wizard era, right? Technology would be a thing, then, and her anchor could probably leave the TV on while they do other shit. That'd be nice.

He's much closer than he usually likes to be, being barely a ruler's length away. It's very off-putting that he's still staring at her, his thoughts clearly whirring.

This is why she doesn't usually let him stew in his thoughts. Goddamn.

Reaching out, Tom apparently tries to go for her neck instead of, like, somewhere less sinister because he's a homicidal maniac. But he doesn't get to make contact since his hand goes right through her. Evie glances down at the appendage inside her neck before looking up at him and hopefully wearing an expression that accurately says, _'Bruh, you fucking good?'_

He, obviously, ignores it, instead focusing more on his clenching hand with an aggrieved scowl like it's failed him horribly. Honestly, what a diva.

So, just to fuck with him, she reaches out and plants a hand on his chest. Because, unlike him, she can actually touch things. True, she can't affect them at all, but she actually has some sort of corporeality when touching other objects.

His gaze lifts to meet hers after glancing at her hand. It's burning. She resists the urge to poke him in the eyes so he can cool off a bit.

"I despise you," he declares like a sharp, caustic promise. She can't help but laugh, much to his annoyance. If there's one thing that she's learned about Tom Riddle, it's that he's very good at deluding himself.

"I wish I were corporeal, too, buddy."

That way, she could show him how there really _are_ worse things than death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Evie are drama queens and they're slowly but surely fumbling their way towards world domination. I started the first part years ago and then finally decided to finish it. I mean, I finished the chapter, but I just can't seem to do oneshots, evidently.
> 
> Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised - 7/10/2020.

"Tom," Evie whispers in Tom's ear, readjusting her hold so she can peek around his head as he unwillingly carries her. Being a ghost thing with weird properties means she can hold onto him as he goes about life and she'll billow behind him like a majestic cape.

He might not agree about her majesty nor her abilities to be a fashionable cloak, but he literally thought it was a good idea to rip his soul apart, so his opinions are invalid.

"Tom," she whines since he's ignoring her again. "What's your game plan, man? Are you just going to rock up at the Gaunts' place and politely ask if they're your relatives? Because that doesn't seem like a smart idea."

"I'm afraid I don't understand your concern," Tom replies, his fake accent a little too polished. Nervous, then. She knows that he doesn't like his working-class, London accent because it's apparently too plebeian for him. "It seems like a perfectly reasonable course of action for an orphan to want to find their family."

Up ahead, there's a cluster of trees that really stand out compared to the rest of the village they've come to. And, as they get closer, Evie begins to spot a bunch of snake corpses chilling about the ground, some fairly fresh while others are very much rotting.

In the gap between the trees, a shady-looking shack can be partially seen.

Evie makes a face. "I don't know, Tom, it's clear that anyone related to you would be fucked, one way or another. And I think Belinda would be appalled with the possibility of their leader bro associating with snake killers living in murder shacks." Tom elicits a sharp exhale. She can't see his face from this angle, but she's sure he's frowning in irritation.

"Its name is _not_ Belinda, Evie."

That's what he got from that? Jesus. "I swear to god, man, your priorities are so out of wack." Maybe it's her fault. She probably should've done more with instilling a good mindset during his formative years, but he learned early on to disregard her. Rude, obviously, but she admits that half the shit she says wouldn't make sense to a child from a completely different era.

Regardless, she'll continue to trash talk him however she pleases. It's her right as a soul-bound spectre, goddamn it.

Tom pauses just as he's about to enter the tiny forest to hiss at a bush. She's about to question his remaining sanity until the bush rustles and a small, live snake slithers out to communicate. It's strange, honestly, how his dumbass followers find the snake speak so ominous. The whole affair just seems kind of lame. People in her world would straight up screech at each other as some kind of incomprehensible demon speak and _that_ was truly horrifying.

"What is your little brother saying?" Evie questions, shifting about again so she can look over his head. It requires her to wrap her legs around his waist while his magical wizard robes billow through her. "'Begone, thot, for madness lies ahead'?"

"Evie," Tom says, curt. She'll admit that it's impressive how much emotion he can squeeze into a single word. "Stop talking." In spite, Evie shrieks at him as he resumes his trek. He reciprocates by declaring his hatred of her existence once more.

Soon enough, there's another snake ahead of them, except this one is dead and nailed to the dirty-ass front door.

Said dirty-ass front door abruptly bursts open a second later, prompting Tom to swiftly unsheathe his special magic stick from its holster thing and raise it in preparation. It would be a lot cooler if she didn't think wands were inefficient and dorky.

"Who goes there?!" bellows the homeless-looking man in the doorway, a crooked wand pointed at Tom. "Muggle scum! The likes of you aren't welcome here!"

Tom seems less than impressed, apparently making a point of flicking his wand to show that he's not a muggle. The dirty dude's wand flies out of his hand and into Tom's free one. Then, because they're family or whatever, he starts conversing in snake.

The interaction ends with Tom's uncle or something unconscious and bereft of some kind of family heirloom.

"It feels weird," Evie says as Tom examines the ring. "Should it feel weird?"

"I'd imagine not," Tom murmurs, absent-minded as he steps over his Gaunt relative and leaves the murder shack to find the Riddles. Apparently. "I feel it, too, however. Perhaps it recognises a Gaunt that isn't afflicted with the complications of inbreeding and you feel it because of your connection to me."

Evie snorts so violently that she accidentally smacks her nose into the back of Tom's head. He doesn't appreciate her response at all.

. . .

* * *

. . .

"You know, Tom, your lackeys are kind of fucking idiots. But, you know, I guess it makes sense since you're also an idiot."

Tom's finger twitches as he calmly, gracefully turns the page of the giant-ass book in his lap. It's somehow aggressive despite it all. He also very purposefully doesn't glance to his left where she is, crouched down by the couch's armrest and looking up at him with her judgemental bug eyes.

Glancing at his groupies, she sees them interacting with one another like she supposes posh schoolboys would; with pretentious superiority permeating off their every move. It makes her insides tingle with buried homicidal urges.

Evie doesn't like them, of course. But there's bad memory association, so she's rather biased. Still, for people so up their asses about blood superiority, they were lightning quick to fall at Tom's feet, who, for the most part, has been considered lesser because of his unknown but obviously partially muggle background.

And then, when it's revealed that he's a half-blood, they think, 'Oh, it makes sense, of course! The magic part of him is why he excels!' while she and Tom know the truth of that. Even his mother was fucked, they've learned, since Tom was adamant in seeing the Riddles and finding out the truth.

She actually pities Tom Riddle Sr since he didn't ask for an inbred witch to drug and rape him and have his child. It makes sense that he'd fucking dip without a second thought.

Tom wanted to kill them. Because he's dumb. She spent the better part of an hour shouting at him about leaving trails and unnecessary deaths while he nonsensically shouted back that they didn't deserve to live. Of course, he was so tilted that he said all of this verbally, so the Riddles correctly assumed him to be fucking insane and had to wait in terror as he came to a decision.

They live, but with less memories than before. It's the best outcome anyone could've asked for, given the situation. Jesus, he's such a fucking wreck.

_"Don't compare me to them,"_ Tom responds, clearly demonstrating how much better he thinks he is even though they're all on the same level to her. Well, okay, she finds Tom to be a little better than them, but not by much. _"They're nothing but sheep, unable to think for themselves."_

Evie sighs, tapping the Gaunt ring that adorns his finger. It feels like it's pulling her towards it all the time. "I guess you believe you've got that Big Dick Energy, huh?"

A laugh escapes her when she sees Tom pause to visibly process what the fuck she's just said.

"Anyway." She jumps up to drape herself over Tom's lap, who must act as though he's at peace with the world even though she's blocking his view of his book thing. Still, she can feel the acerbic energy in his very being when she shifts to face him. "You should re-educate your toadies."

His brow twitches. He's intrigued despite himself. _"For what reason? I believe I've already done well in showing them who has the real power among us."_

She squints up at him with an expression that encompasses both disgust and disbelief. "If you mean by conforming to _their_ standards of power, then yes." Shifting again, Evie sits up until she's right in Tom's face. Something about her expression bothers him since she can see the guarded look in his eyes. Or maybe he just doesn't like her being so close. It makes sense.

"Don't you get it, Tom?" Evie continues, grabbing his face with force he can't feel. It's upsetting. "You should've taught them that blood doesn't matter. You should've made them _bleed,_ Tom, and showed them that their blood is as red as any other's. That their arbitrary beliefs mean _nothing_ to someone of true power and that you, the orphan of unknown background, were that someone."

Tom is statuesque, his glazed glued onto her with an intensity that she hasn't quite seen before. She's not very into it.

"But, _instead,_ you go off and fucking try to say that you have real power and importance by focusing on your lineage as if you're seeking approval from them instead of the other way around!" She releases his face to throw her hands up in exasperation. "They've looked down on you from the moment you fucking entered Hogwarts, but now you're going to embrace their belief system and push their ideals forward?! Fuck off."

The intensity shifts into his usual vexation whenever she shit-talks him, but she can see him reluctantly digesting what she's saying, nonetheless.

"Seriously, Tom. You're not a pure-blood and you should be proud of it. I just, like, I just don't fucking get how you can think you're so superior to these spoiled bitches who just happened to be born into privileged families while adopting their standards! And it's so limiting in the long term!" Evie readjusts, her wild gesturing throwing her off balance. "What are you going to do in the future, Tom? Just fucking go around killing muggle-borns and half-bloods that don't throw away their muggle heritage? What kind of fucking inefficient hypocrisy? Don't look at me like you're not going to do that, you dick! Your brainless minions think you hate muggle-borns and are fully expecting you to come up with some kind of plan of ridding the wizarding world of them!

It's just so fucking stupid! You're so fucking stupid! You're going about this whole power fantasy all wrong and it's fucking with me! I mean, maybe it's my fault. I should've tried to convince you more; I _do_ have a habit of giving up quickly. But, regardless of that, if you were going about this properly, you'd have made your policy, _your cause,_ to be power above all or something. Power that's earned, not given; power that can be earned by anyone willing to fight for it, regardless of blood."

Evie leans in again, her hands clawed into his shoulders. He can't feel it, of course, but she wishes he did. "Do you know how many people would want to follow you if that's what you did? How many people would be willing to lay down their lives for you because you saw their worth when the world said they were worthless? Fear might get you obedience and respect, but it won't give you loyalty. And these pure-bloods you've surrounded yourself with fear you and even maybe respect you, but they're not loyal to _you._ They're loyal to what they believe you can give them, which is validation for their insecurities."

Practically jumping off of him to stand, Evie spreads her arms wide while maintaining feverish, unblinking eye contact with her dipshit anchor.

"Look around you, Tom! This magic world of yours is fucked. Imagine if you made it so no one would ever look down on you for being a half-blood ever again. Imagine how grateful and awed all the muggle-borns and half-bloods would be if you paved a future where they can be powerful, too."

The queer intensity in his eyes is back again, alongside calculation and whatever else goes on in his deranged mind. If she were willing to consider it, she might think that this whole speech of hers has turned him on. You know, that might be the case. She should stop thinking about it.

_"And the pure-bloods?"_ is what he finally replies to her with after a good minute of silence. He's looking at her like he's seeing her for the first time. She lowers her arms because it'd be awkward to keep them up.

"Validate them," Evie answers, crouching down to rest her forearms on his knees. "Make them feel they're superior by convincing them to support the lower class. Noblesse oblige and whatever. Convince them that they're needed for wizarding society to function. That, without their money and support, half-bloods and especially muggle-borns would be nothing and would have no opportunities for the future. Just, you know, rally them together and make them realise that it's stupid to cripple their own society, which is already so small in comparison to muggles."

And then, after thirty minutes of no response and her dozing off on his knees, he finally says, _"I'll think about it."_

Evie considers that a small win. It'll become larger if he actually follows through, but… Mm. She doubts it.

. . .

* * *

. . .

"Tom!" Coming up behind him as he dramatically stares out at the Black Lake or whatever it's called, Evie jumps on his back and hooks onto him with all her limbs. "Are you reminiscing about how much pain you've put me through over the years?"

Tom's fiddling with his ring pauses as he takes a moment to curse whatever higher being forced her upon him. "It astounds me how you manage to renew my ire so effortlessly even after all these years."

"Back at you, bitch," she retorts, resting her chin on his head. "Like, when are you going to punch the pure-bloods and all that shit?" Because, even after her impassioned speech, he hasn't really done shit. True, he only had a year before they all graduated, but he could've fucked them up within a few months, easy. They're beta cucks.

"I still need them," Tom answers, heaving a sigh. "As grating as it is, they have resources that I lack."

Evie squints. "Like money? You could literally bedazzle muggles and figure out your own methods of income, both in the muggle world and the magic one. And then you could make new connections in France or where ever the fuck we're going in your dumbass search for immortality." If he gets desperate, she can just give him inventions from her world that aren't yet a thing.

Eliciting a sharp exhale, Tom hisses, "You're completely and utterly infuriating! Haven't you had your fill of questioning my decisions by now?"

Softly, almost intimately, Evie replies, "No." Maybe when he makes smarter decisions, which might be when he's twenty-five or something. There's not a lot of hope for the rest of his adolescence, even if he's technically considered an adult by both the wizarding and muggle standards. If she weren't around, he'd be half a soul by now. Maybe even a quarter or something.

"What misdeeds have I done to deserve you?" he mutters, holding a hand to his face as if he's truly pained by her presence. Drama queen. If anything, that should be her question, and she tells him so. "Oh, please, Evie. As if I could ever be as obnoxious as you with your garish appearance and nonsensical manner."

"I don't know, man, you may not be as visually colourful, but your manner is just as fucking nonsensical. I'm not going to let go of the fact that you genuinely tried to rip your fucking soul apart. Utter fucking stupidity, I swear to god."

The bickering continues for a good while, ruining the otherwise peaceful atmosphere that was also probably meant to be melancholic.

At some point, when they're calmer, it somehow switches onto the topic of how Tom's bored of wearing his Gaunt ring. She's not sure how he thought it was fun to wear it in the first place. It's kind of really fucking ugly.

"Well, what are you going to do with it?" she asks as he removes the ring from his finger and holds it up for inspection. The black stone shimmers as the sunlight hits it. Evie feels the weird pull again.

This time, though, it actually prompts her to impulsively stick her ring finger through it even though it wouldn't have ̶

Tom abruptly dips, as though he's suddenly being weighed down by something. "Oh, my god!" Evie yells as she's properly affected by the motion instead of being slowly, weightlessly dragged along. " _Oh, my god!_ " she repeats, louder this time, as she starts to _feel._

Evie starts to feel the material of Tom's robes, and his hair, and the warmth of his body and the motherfucking _wind_ on her face!

She feels Tom grabbing one of her arms wrapped around his neck as he regains his balance and there's something wild building in her chest as she tries to sort out all the shit that's happening right now.

"Tom!" she screams, rocking back and forth and _revelling_ in the fact that he's actually being affected by her movements. "Tom! Your ugly-ass ring made me corporeal! Tom! _Tom!_ Fuck you, it's mine, now! Oh, my god!"

Tom might be saying something, but Evie's too caught up in the sensations of the world to hear, and there's a part of her that urges her to jump into the lake.

So, she does, dragging Tom along with her.

When she rises back to the surface, Evie realises that she's not wet. "Well, shit. Can't have everything, I guess." Tom, on the other hand, who looks like a drowned and pissed off cat, is. Evie can't help but grin at him, probably maniacally, even as he appears to be struggling quite heavily with how to respond to this sudden sequence of events.

"Tom," she calls, looking down at her hands. Slapping them down on the water, the liquid splashes, but she's untouched and perfectly dry. A manic cackle escapes her before she can continue with her train of thought.

"Evie," Tom replies, although his tone is odd. Looking towards him, she finds him running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face. His eyes are burning with emotion again, even as the rest of him is strangely… smooth. He might be struggling on whether or not to punch her, actually.

They stare at each other in silence, then, trying to compute everything while also maybe considering who throws the first uppercut. If it's Tom, he's going to learn that she can actually throw down. Honestly, though, she might do it first, just because he deserves a good kick in the ass for being a terrible villain-in-training.

But they're interrupted by a new voice shouting, "Ooh, what's this, what's this? A new poltergeist wreaking havoc on the Riddling Riddle himself?" from somewhere behind her. Evie turns, finding Peeves the poltergeist flying over to them with a wide grin. He stops nearby, looking at the scene with a little too much mirth. "'Bout time you got your comeuppance, Raddles, don't you think? I know what happens when you speak in tongues, after all."

"Poltergeist?" Evie gasps, turning back to Tom with excitement. He looks less than pleased, both by her usual bullshit and Peeves' unwanted arrival. "Oh, fuck, does this mean I can fly? Can I do magic again?" To test it out, she jumps, hand stretched towards Peeves in case gravity drags her back down.

Surprisingly, he grabs her hands and seems to stabilise her, allowing her to actually stay in the air with him. Elated, Evie laughs again. This time, Peeves joins her. He can probably feel the chaotic energy radiating off her. She knew she liked him for a reason.

"Again, Evie?" Tom says, bringing her back to the ground. Figuratively, at least, since she's still floating. He, for some reason, is still in the water, his eyes practically flashing as he studies her. "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh. I didn't tell you that I used to be a kind of mage in my world?" Weird. She could've sworn she's mentioned it once or twice.

Tom glares at her. " _No._ "

Ah. Well, Evie has time to teach him all about that. Later, though. First off, she thinks she needs to see whether or not a flying kick to the head is as fun as it sounds.

It is. Tom doesn't agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They'll conquer the world eventually, I think. Just, you know, not gracefully.
> 
> Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.


	3. ?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (°ロ°) ! Thank you to everyone who's supported this wack story.

Sometimes, when Evie is feeling particularly dramatic, she steals Tom's diary ̶the one he was going to fucking yeet half of his dumbass soul into ̶and writes about her woes. It's super fucking messy, of course, because she only has a quill pen to use and it's evidently a fucking art to write properly.

Tom, unlike her, has genuinely pretty writing. He likes to throw that fact in her face, but she often gives him a look of disbelieving disgust. Because, like, her handwriting might be shit, but at least she's not fucking stupid.

Regardless, she takes pride in the chicken scratch because he can still make out the words whenever he decides to skim through it. Honestly, though, she doesn't actually know why he does it. She never has anything nice to say aside from,

_I'm glad that the minimal intelligence within that smooth fucking brain of his is still capable of deciphering my wack-ass handwriting. Papa bless._

Today, Evie is feeling that kind of dramatic. Because even after graduating and breathing a little less of the same air as his fuckwit minions, Tom still seems to be intellectually challenged when it comes to his choices in life.

And he has the audacity to just be splayed out on the couch like he's at a modelling shoot or some shit while she has to remain awake. Thinking. Forever. About his fucking idiocy. It's truly horrific.

Is meditation possible for a poltergeist? Maybe she should try it, sometime.

For now, though, Evie writes. Dramatically.

_Dear Diary, I am back at it again with my immeasurable fucking disappointment in this dipshit called Tom._

_What did I do to deserve this, Satan? I did things with some modicum of grace, did I not? I fucked up bitches, sacrificed goats, tried to learn how to twerk and fail because the clap of my ass cheeks wasn't good enough for the thot gods._

_Was that the reason? Did I get stuck with a moron because I wasn't thicc enough? Is that it? If I knew, I would've done some squats or something. Why did no one tell me?_

_Anyway, Tom's trying to yeet himself into the future. Fuck if I know why. He says it's so he can outlast his enemies, but, like… Just kill them? How is he supposed to build an empire or whatever he's trying to achieve if he's not even present for the foundations? Um?_

_Like, he can't seriously think that the few years he's been out of school is enough for him to just dip out of the fucking timeline?_

_No, wait, it's Tom. He's irrational. What the fuck was I thinking, assuming he had a fucking ounce of logic? Let me put another reminder to never underestimate Tom's small brain thinking._

_TOM IS A FUCKNUT, DON'T UNDERESTIMATE HIS FUCKNUTTERY._

_There we go._

_Well. Okay. I think that's enough for now. I'll give updates on whether or not he succeeds in his crackhead endeavours._

_P.S. He did, and my day is ruined._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I might be writing a sequel. I recently reread the reviews and they really motivated me to continue, especially since I couldn't respond to some of them to say how much I appreciated all the kind words. You'll get short-ass chapters, sporadic updates and Evie's continuous dismay. Tom'll be there, too, I guess.
> 
> Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.


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